


Chess Ain't How Your Boyfriend Thinks

by SingARoundelay



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Internalized Homophobia, It'll eventually wind up with the parings we all expect, M/M, Marvin is an asshole to everyone, more tags to come i'm sure, quasi-baseball AU?, the lesbians from next door
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-01-17 03:49:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12356826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SingARoundelay/pseuds/SingARoundelay
Summary: Starting up a chess club isn’t exactly the nerdiest thing he’s ever done but it certainly ranks in the top five. Of course, it’d probably be far more acceptable to start one if he were in high school rather than college where these types of clubs tended to fall onto the “accepted” side of the social scale. Well, accepted was being generous. It actually meant he was bullied for days by the jocks but at the same time met all the other loser-types just like him. They may have been a teeny tiny band who rotated their after-school hours between chess club, mathletes, and the debate team — but at least it gave him a false sense of security there were others like him and only the jocks were the assholes.***COLLEGE AU**The one where Marvin starts a chess club but no one comes; Trina is unhappy but pretends not to hate everything; Charlotte has a new girlfriend; and Mendel is hungry.





	1. In Which Marvin is an Asshole

Starting up a chess club isn’t exactly the nerdiest thing he’s ever done but it certainly ranks in the top five. Of course, it’d probably be far more acceptable to start one if he were in _high school_ rather than _college_ where these types of clubs tended to fall onto the “accepted” side of the social scale. Well, accepted was being generous. It actually meant he was bullied for days by the jocks but at the same time met all the other loser-types just like him. They may have been a teeny tiny band who rotated their after-school hours between chess club, mathletes, and the debate team — but at least it gave him a false sense of security there were others like him and only the jocks were the assholes.

If Marvin thought the same bizarre moral code would apply to college life he was sorely mistaken.

Half the posters he’d put up around campus had either been torn down or littered with some derogatory terms of endearment calling his sexuality into question (a fact he knew his girlfriend would not be amused with). What made it worse was his colorful announcements had been stapled up during orientation. Three days ago. People at this damn school had that much vitriol toward something that didn’t involve sports.

Thus he sat, alone, in a tiny room with a chess board sitting in front of him and the seat opposite him abandoned.

He isn’t desperate enough to start a game with himself as the opponent. He isn’t eight and his mother isn’t standing over him threatening bodily harm unless he stops playing with himself (in the literal sense). _One more game without a friend and you’re spending July at the Jewish center summer camp. Can’t you be normal for once in your life?_ Marvin shudders. He can still hear his mother’s shrill voice in the back of his head. She was always so disappointed in him.

Acting like he wasn’t normal because he didn’t have friends and wasn’t popular and wasn’t athletic.

 _Normal_. That woman wouldn’t know what normal was if it slapped her upside the head.

Marvin knew for a long time he wasn’t normal — no kid preferred playing chess over baseball and no good Jewish boy would rather spend time with other Jewish boys instead of finding a good Jewish wife to raise a good Jewish family to create more Jewish boys and girls to start their own families. 

Fuck. 

See, Marvin knows his senior year of college was going to fly by in an instant and the moment he graduates, certain debts will be called in. One doesn’t date a girl for six years through half of high school and most of college without an _assumption_ of a chuppah waiting for him at the end of the aisle of life. Then will come the screaming babies and the diapers and the mortgage and…

The thought of marriage (and everything that comes along with it) terrifies him — mostly for reasons he never wants to admit to himself.

“Marvin?”

He looks up and forces a smile onto his face. “Hey, Trina.”

She clucks her tongue apologetically as she sweeps into the room like a force of nature. Usually he’s happy to see his girlfriend but today he wants to be anywhere but in this small room with her. “I told you this was a bad idea,” she says by way of greeting.

Marvin checks his watch, speaking through clenched teeth. “I got here early. If you read the fliers, I said the club would start at 5 and it’s only ten till. Glad you have so much faith in me. I’m sure folks are on their way over any minute now.”

She sighs and Marvin can practically hear her roll her eyes. “Are you really going to go through with this, Marv? You know as well as I do that no one but you would be caught at a chess club meeting.”

“You’re here,” Mavin replies, steel creeping into his voice. “You’re caught here. Careful, someone might see you standing there and think you’re a _nerd_.” He dips his voice, sarcasm laced through the last word.

A muscle in Trina’s jaw twitches and Marvin knows he’s gone a step too far. Still, he won’t apologize because apologies aren’t in his nature — even when he’s in the wrong.

Trina crosses the room and presses a kiss to the top of Marvin’s head before she perches on the edge of the desk. “You’re my boyfriend. I never mind being where you are. What I meant was that first day of classes is probably not the best time to launch a club. Should wait for… the club fair or something.” She picks up a pawn, twirling it between her fingers. “Come on, babe. I’m starving and I’m sure you are too. Mendel is already at the quad and he said he’d drive you and me and Charlotte to go get dinner off campus.” 

Trina sets the pawn back down and Marvin can feel a headache beginning to bloom behind his eyelids. “I told you—“

“I know, I know. But we have friends who want to see you rather than random people who will probably mock you behind your back.” Great. So she saw the posters and the gay slurs. “Not to mention that I saw Charlotte this morning before English. She said has someone she wants all of us to meet.” She topples the king with a flick of her finger. 

“That’s the king. You should treat him nice.”

Trina shakes her head. “It’s the queen who has all the power.”

Marvin presses two fingers to the bridge of his nose. That headache is starting to morph into a full-blown migraine. “Half hour. Then I’ll be there. I promise. Just… let me have this, Trina. Please?”

She looks like she wants to say something but holds her tongue. Instead she sets the king to rights and puts the pawn back on its starting position. She sweeps out of the room just like she came in and Marvin knows — _he knows_ — this is one of those moments where he’s supposed to stop her and capitulate and agree he’s a failure and shuffle off with her and pretend this never happened.

Today Marvin is stubborn and holds his ground.

* * *

Marvin is a failure and should have left with Trina and admit this was a stupid idea when he had the chance.

He stays an extra forty minutes (just in case) but no one shows up. He sees a few people pass the doorway and he hears more of those muttered epithets, spoken just loud enough for him to hear. Christ, how do so many people on this campus equate gay and chess? It’d be one thing if he were dancing on stage and playing at theatre or fashion design. Those would make the whole gay assumption a bit more likely.

Was Bobby Fisher gay? What about Anatoly Karpov? Preposterous.

Still, it’s almost six by the time Marvin trudges toward the quad, his chess board deposited safely back at his dorm room. Trina is looking less than pleased with him when he finally approaches the meeting space. She ducks her head in closer toward Mendel. It doesn’t take a genius to know she’s been complaining to the wannabe shrink this whole time. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think something was going on between the two of them — but Trina is loyal to a fault — just like he is to her. 

No matter how fucking miserable he’s been as of late. Somehow she still seems happy with him after all this time. Marvin isn’t sure if she actually _is_ or if she’s as good a liar as he is.

Could be a little of both.

No matter how often they’re at each other’s throats, they’ve managed to stay together since the middle of their sophomore year. While they may be fighting more and more — Marvin has to admit the makeup sex later has been… well. It’s better than the usual slow loving thing that Trina likes. Still, it may not be the healthiest of relationships but somehow it works for both of them. So he doesn’t complain — and neither does she.

Trina shoots him a dirty look but doesn’t say anything else. Rather than placate his pissed off girlfriend, Marvin makes a beeline for Charlotte, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. 

“How’s my favorite resident-in-training?” he asks, draping an arm around her shoulder.

“Years away from being a resident but I like your enthusiasm,” Charlotte replies, returning the kiss with a chuckle. “I’m still waiting to hear if I even got accepted into medical school and those letters won’t even be in for another six months.”

“I figured it’s already a foregone conclusion. Out of all of us, you’re the one who will be making the big bucks.”

“Meanwhile you’ll be driving the rest of us crazy?” she replies, nudging Marvin with her hip.

Mendel jingles his keys, the international sign for _I’m starving so get in the car to go get food and you can all talk later but I don’t want to actually saying anything and have attention on me, so I’ll just make this annoying noise and not offend anyone by speaking my mind._ Well, more the first part about being hungry rather than the latter. That’s his own projection onto the situation. 

Marvin is well aware he’s an asshole, both outwardly and in his inner thoughts but no one seems to complain. Or, if they do, it isn’t within earshot.

* * *

“So who are we meeting here anyway?” Marvin asks as they all pile out of the car like some demented circus troupe. Mendel’s car is definitely too small to transport three full-sized humans (but at least Marvin had some extra leg room sitting behind the man) and Marvin feels like he has to uncurl his body to stand up straight.

Trina smacks his arm, unamused at his theatrics.

“Someone special,” Charlotte says with a bit of a bounce in her step.

“Who’s the lucky guy?” Mendel pipes up, not noticing the tall, leggy blonde approaching their rag-tag group.

“If they’re so special, why are we meeting them at Denny’s?” Marvin mutters under his breath at the same time.

Charlotte flashes a grin at someone behind Marvin, waving to catch their attention. Marvin turns just in time to see the same leggy-blonde approach and take Charlotte’s outstretched hand. After a moment’s pause, she bends down to press a swift kiss to Charlotte’s lips. Marvin blinks, taken aback by the outward show of affection. Not because it’s two women (though a bit because it _is_ two women) but because he’s never been a fan of PDA.

“Everyone… I want you to meet Cordelia,” Charlotte rolls onto the balls of her feet, almost anxious for what the rest of the group will say to the bombshell that’s just been dropped. 

There’s a tense moment where no one says _anything_. Marvin tries to rack his brain and see if Charlotte ever mentioned that she liked girls. Or liked girls and guys for that matter. (Bisexuality is a thing even if Hollywood likes to think attraction is a binary state.) He doesn’t know why this bothers him as much as it does, only that it twists something inside his stomach and not in a pleasant way.

It’s not that he isn’t happy that _Charlotte_ is happy. Quite the opposite really.

It’s that someone is comfortable in their skin in a way that Marvin knows he’ll never be.

Not since he first caught himself staring at the curve of a guy’s ass in high school. Not since he started going to football games — not because of any sort of school spirit but because those uniforms were so damn _tight_. Not since he found that he liked sneaking peeks when the other guys changed in the locker room rather than eyeing the peep-hole that peered into the girls’ showers. When he realized breasts did nothing to turn him on but well-muscled biceps and tight abs did.

Not since he realized he was probably gay and hated himself for adding one more tick to the ‘Marvin isn’t normal’ column.

Not since he realized admitting to himself and the world (like Charlotte just did) would kill his parents and Trina and he would do anything to remain the nice, normal Jewish boy who will grow up and get married to another nice Jewish girl. To be the man who didn’t disappoint any of the women in his life and knew how to uphold the facade of normalcy.

In that moment he both hates and envies Charlotte her easygoingness. Her ability to be who she is without fear of reprisal.

Because he knows that will never be him.

“I’m happy for you,” Marvin finally whispers.

He breaks the pregnant pause with a clap of his hands and everyone else seems to snap out of their trance-like state. They’re now chatting with the happy couple, asking for details on how they met. All ignoring the fact that one of the core members of their group is a lesbian. Did they know? Did they all know but him?

The stone in Marvin’s gut twists again. Trina seems oblivious to Marvin’s existential crisis in the middle of a Denny’s parking lot. 

Charlotte, however, makes eye contact — albeit briefly.

Marvin forces a smile but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Does she know? _How_ could she know?

* * *

“So what are we doing tonight anyways?” Trina asks after they’ve ordered their greasy breakfast foods for dinner. “I mean, we should celebrate the fact that Marvin and I aren’t the only couple in the group now after all.”

Charlotte pointedly glances away from Marvin. Whatever she’s about to say, Marvin has a feeling it’s going to be a huge disappointment. Like the time they thought it would be hilarious to try an escape room and they failed miserably. (Marvin still blames that failure on the four random people shoved into their room.)

“Can’t we just go to a movie?” Marvin says, too far away to kick Charlotte under the table and make her agree with him. And Trina is sitting beside Mendel and Cordelia so she’s no help either.

“Actually…” Charlotte bites her lip and reaches into her purse, pulling out five tickets. “I got us tickets to this great special event. The local team is taking on last year’s champions.”

Marvin is keenly aware that Charlotte has neglected to name _which_ sporting team it is. He thinks back over the last year, trying to remember what — if any — team at the school won some championship game. 

Oh, _fuck._

Baseball.


	2. In Which Marvin Hates Baseball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where everyone goes to a baseball game, Charlotte despises the umpires, Marvin is miserable — and Whizzer ALMOST makes his grand entrance.

“Where the hell did they get this umpire! Who are you blowing after the game, jackass? It was a goddamned ball not a strike!”

Cordelia pulls on her girlfriend’s arm, but if Marvin knows his best friend — and how he does know her — once she’s gotten something in her craw, she won’t let go of it. There’s one thing above all else that raises her blood pressure and competitive spirit: baseball. Of course, this also means that their entire section has turned around to gawk at the angry woman shouting obscenities at the umpire behind (wait, he knows this) fourth plate.

Or is it home base? No, that sounds like something out of a Sci-Fi epic. Home plate. Still sounds stupid. Home something. Whatever, it doesn’t matter and he fucking hates baseball so why are they here in the first place other than to torment him?

Because, naturally, everything is all about Marvin.

Marvin runs a hand through his hair and stares, not at whatever play is happening on the field but the empty plastic cup in the drink holder by his knees. He’s already gone through two of them and he’s debating if a third one would be too uncouth.

It is only the second inning after all.

“Charlotte. Honey, please will you sit? People are staring!” Cordelia’s voice has a touch of hysteria to it and Marvin bites back a bitter laugh.

“The test of any relationship with Charlotte: can they stand being around her at a sporting event when they see how rabid — OW!” Marvin rubs the back of his head where Charlotte flicked him. He mutters a curse under his breath and resumes debating the merits of getting completely blitzed at a baseball game.

Seriously. Why did people think this was a good time? A guy in a box trying to hit a ball—thrown at his midsection at around a hundred miles per hour—with a tiny wooden stick while the other team tries to catch the ball. Where was the skill? Where was the… excitement? There wasn’t any if you ask him. Sure, he can appreciate the tight uniforms (especially when those guys crouch to swing the bat and the pants pull just right) that leave nothing to the imagination. Even with all the eye candy he’s absolutely not enjoying, sitting through the next two hours will be nothing but torture. Especially when he’s supposed to be straight and enjoying a baseball game with his girlfriend and their friends.

“God I hate baseball,” he mutters under his breath. “Unlike the rest of you.”

Trina flicks the back of his head in the same place Charlotte did. Is it possible to bruise your scalp? He rubs the mark and curses again.

“Behave. It’s only for a couple of hours. It won’t kill you.”

_It might._

Deciding that inebriation is worth the hangover in the morning and the judging stares from his friends, Marvin slips out of their row and heads back to the concession stand. Thank god the PowersThatBe (TM) decided to do this exhibition game in an actual major league arena. Sure, the ballpark is probably only a third full (everyone knows a college team can’t hold a candle to the pros) but Marvin doubts he could have such a wide selection of beers to choose from in their small collegiate stadium.

_**”Now batting seventh against the Mets, star catcher for the Westchester Falcons, Whizzer Brown.”** _

Marvin frowns, wondering if it was the staticky public address system or if someone’s name really is Whizzer. Fucking hell, what sort of parents are that cruel to a kid to name them ‘Whizzer’? Marvin can only imagine the sort of nicknames kids must have called the guy over the years.

_”Pitcher’s gotta big butt!”_

_Try as he might, Marvin found it impossible to block out the taunts coming from the other team’s dugout. He hated his parents in this moment, begging him to be normal and go play sports like any normal kid. If Marvin thought a summer of little league would have been enough to earn his parents’ approval, he was sorely mistaken._

_This was utter hell on earth._

_He glanced back at his own dugout and tried to catch his best friend Charlotte’s eye. She, however, was too busy talking to the only other girl on their team. Lisa? Abby?_

_“Throw the stupid ball, Marvy-warvy. Your team can’t possibly win!”_

_Well, that was the truth. Marvin wound up, threw, and the ball wound up several feet away from the catcher. The kids burst out in guffaws—all of them. Even the kids on his own team. **Plus** a few parents. Christ, kids were supposed to be the cruel ones, not the parents. Weren’t they all supposed to be supportive or some shit._

_Shouting a word a kid of eleven absolutely should not have said in public, Marvin stormed off the field, ignoring the everyone’s shouts for him to come back._

_Fuck them and fuck baseball._

“Hey, buddy watch out!”

Marvin barely has time to look up when a ball collides with his full cup of beer, sending it going everywhere. Fucking. Typical. Half the alcohol winds up on his person while the rest of it splatters on the guy in front of him and the floor. Well there goes a good ten bucks. (Yeah, the ballpark doesn’t mind charging major league prices for this ‘exhibition’ game.)

“Heads up. This is foul ball territory,” he says, clapping Marvin on his one dry shoulder. “Don’t you see the signs? Keep aware at all times. Hell, if I didn’t say something, you’d have caught the ball in the head rather than your beer.”

Marvin isn’t sure if that’s a bad thing at the present. Not when he has to spend the next seven innings smelling like an alcoholic.

The guy at the concession stand takes pity on Marvin and gives him a second beer on the house (so he didn’t waste the money after all) and he trudges back to the stands.

“Marvin, what the hell happened to you?” Trina asks, picking at his damp shirt when he sits down. “I know you’re miserable but isn’t this taking it a bit too far?” She arches a pencil-thin eyebrow in his direction.

At this point, Marvin’s last nerve is snapping. “I felt like dousing myself in beer rather than drinking it,” he dead-pans. “See if I’ll start a new trend: hypothermia from lager. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

Trina screws her face into a half frown and turns back to the game, chatting with Mendel instead. He’s going on about some Sandy fella (Koufax? What is it with ball players and bizarre names?) and Trina is listening with rapt attention. Occasionally he and Charlotte trade barbs about the officiating — and Marvin almost wishes he was sitting next to Cordelia. She looks as uninterested as he feels. 

It’s going to be a long game.

* * *

He’s not sure what inning it is by this point, but Marvin is utterly miserable. If you ask him, they’ve been here for at least nineteen hours and the earth is starting to spin in the opposite direction. The outside temperature has dropped considerably (happy early fall?) and he’s tired of the scent of beer clinging to his pores. He feels like even if he scrubs himself for an hour in the shower with the hottest water he can stand, he’s still going to be smelling Sam Adams’ finest brew on his skin.

Marvin’s also a little drunk. Maybe more than a little. Not a good combination for a closeted man who is still staring at the men on the field with rapt attention. Trina thinks he’s finally getting interested in something she likes. 

“Well, he’s not exactly _my_ type, Marvin, but I have to admit the pitcher is handsome. If you go for clean-cut douchebags,” Charlotte lets out a bark of a laugh. “Good thing I’m a lesbian or I might try and steal Marvin from you, Trina.”

Alarm bells go off in his head and Marvin sobers up in an instant. He doesn’t care that Charlotte implied he was a douchebag. No, he’s more concerned about what he may have just let slip in his inebriated state? _Fuck._ Did he just call the pitcher handsome? Do they think he’s gay now?

Wait, can guys call each other handsome without having to start wearing glitter and rainbow flags? Maybe he didn’t throw himself out of the closet and can pass it off as some… manly compliment. His mind is working a mile a minute, trying to figure out the best way of spinning the situation.

Then again, the longer he stays quiet, the more suspicious this becomes. _Shitshitshitshit._

Trina’s looking at Marvin a little strangely, but he laughs awkwardly and tries to pass it off like he’s tired and a little tipsy and isn’t it better that he’s taking at least a passing interest in baseball? She seems to accept this and Marvin breathes a subtle sigh of relief.

As Trina turns back to Mendel and the game (really, what _is_ going on with those two today? Just because Marvin is decidedly gay and just stringing Trina along because of his stupid need to be a normal straight boy doesn’t mean he isn’t a jealous asshole either. He’s ninety-nine percent certain that Trina is loyal to a fault, but that doesn’t stop the green-eyed monster from raising its ugly head. _Back off, Weisenbachfeld._ ) Marvin’s gaze flicks over to Charlotte — and finds her staring directly at him.

He doesn’t like the way Charlotte’s stare seems to be boring into him. He flashes her a half-hearted smile, knowing it doesn’t quite reach his eyes and she returns it with one of her own. His heart is doing a strange tap-dancing number in his rib cage and he knows his stomach will chime in with somersaults any moment. It’s been the three of them — Charlotte, Marvin and Trina — for years. Where Trina only had eyes for him, a relationship, and their eventual white picket fence future together — Charlotte was different for very obvious reasons.

For the first time, he wonders if she knows he’s gay and living the biggest lie of his life.

But, no, that’s impossible. For all that he may be a lesbro (that’s the opposite of faghag, right?) Marvin has always been so careful to project _I am a straight man, just look at me. Nothing to see here._ around her. But if he made any more comments about guys on the team being handsome, he knew full well that Charlotte would start making assumptions he couldn’t afford for her to make. 

_Right. Watch the ball. Not their asses._

“Shame you missed that catcher,” Trina says with a bit of a dreamy sigh. “Now that’s what I’d call handsome.”

“Pity he got hit by a pitch in the second,” Mendel pipes up. “Hope he’s not too badly hurt. We really need him this season.”

“More a pity they didn’t clear the benches,” Charlotte mutters under her breath. “I’d have loved to see a bunch of college kids take on the Mets. Now that’d be the brawl of a century.”

Marvin is completely lost but it’s not the first time. In truth, all he really wants is to get out of here and just be alone with his thoughts. No nagging girlfriend. No sickeningly happy lesbians. No wannabe psychiatrist horning in on the aforementioned nagging girlfriend.

But most of all no more baseball games where he’s very likely to out himself to the one group of people he firmly needs to stay in the closet.

* * *

Seventeen to six — it’s no big surprise their team lost.

The Mets may have been the worst team in baseball this year — even a non-baseball person knew that — but compared to the Falcons it was like watching the Yankees play. 

Somehow the game only lasted two and a half hours rather than sixteen eternities. Marvin probably shouldn’t be drinking any more tonight, but this isn’t a night for good decisions. He’s moved on from the beer and is now nursing a whisky and ginger while the rest of his friends stand around and discuss the finer points of the game.

Honest to god, they all were just there. They saw it. Do they all really need a point-by-point replay? Marvin flicks out a piece of ice, chewing on it in an attempt to block out the conversation.

“—You are right though,” he hears Trina say. “As long as Brown keeps playing like that, we might make it to the finals this year. Shame we have to wait for late fall to start going to games in earnest.”

Oh god, this wasn’t a one off? Marvin pats his side gingerly. _Good luck, my faithful liver. You’re gonna need it._

Marvin’s gaze flicks amongst his friends and somehow his mood turns even more sour. Charlotte and Cordelia have their heads bent close together, occasionally adding things to the conversation but mostly only having eyes for each other.

Mendel and Trina look much the same.

Grunting, Marvin swings himself off his barstool with a bit of a sway to his step and wraps an arm around Trina’s shoulder. She looks at him funnily but still nestles into the embrace all the same. Marvin gives Mendel a look as if to say _back off, she’s mine_ — even though this feels so wrong. He doesn’t want this… he wants hard muscles. He wants to lean against someone taller than he is and to smell the spicy scent of cologne rather than a light and flowery perfume.

If he were a kind man, he’d end it with Trina right then and there — letting her have her happy ending with the psych student who looks at her as if she’s his whole world. And, if he can’t do that, maybe he should try to turn over a new leaf where Mendel is concerned. As the old saying goes: you catch more flies with honey…

But Marvin isn’t a kind man.

He wants it all. He wants the muscles and the soft. The man he keeps hidden and the wife he keeps on his arm.

“Marvin, baby, I think you’ve had enough.”

“I’m just fine,” he mumbles, pressing his lips to her temple. She melts further against him, clearly happy to have the outward show of affection. It’s rare for him. “Promise. I had two glasses of water before this, even. Fit as a fiddle.”

“No one says fit as a fiddle,” Trina replies, rolling her eyes.

“I do…”

“No one asked you, Mendel,” Marvin snaps. Whoops. So much for trying to kill him with kindness. He’d settle for killing him.

“You know, Marvin, you’ve been an asshole to Mendel all night. What do you think, he’s trying to steal you away?”

Marvin purses his lips. “Well, I—”

“Well, nothing!” Trina pulls away from him then, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Honest to god, Marvin. You know I love you. Don’t be so fucking controlling that you think if any guy but you looks at me with a shred of kindness I’m going to immediately jump into bed with him! Trust me, here.”

Under normal circumstances — in other words, had Marvin not already consumed half his body weight with booze tonight — he would have capitulated and apologized. Needing to save face and make everything be all right. Tonight, however, Marvin turns on his heel and storms out of the bar, ignoring Trina’s shouts at his back.

Tomorrow he’ll patch things up with her like he always does. He’ll apologize and she’ll cry — then they’ll go through the motions of having sex and by the end of it, she’ll cuddle up against his chest and he’ll tell her he loves her.

It’s the way they’ve carried on through the whole of their relationship. It isn’t healthy. It’s toxic and they both know it.

But it’s also comfortable and familiar and staying together is expected.

Tomorrow everything will be right with the world of Marvin and Trina.

But tonight… tonight Marvin needs to not be Marvin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the next installment of the college AU! I had every intention of fully introducing Whizzer this chapter but he wants to wait until chapter 3 to make his official entrance! My goal is to update at least once a week with something -- as I'm going to start on the High School Teacher AU soon as well. So friday night/saturday morning you'll see something from me!
> 
> [Also sorry Mets fans. <3]
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are <3 I always appreciate feedback and don't forget to subscribe so you don't miss any updates! Thanks for reading. :^)


	3. In Which Whizzer Makes an Entrance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one that takes place in a club, Marvin isn’t as straight as he pretends — and our hero finally meets Whizzer.

When he storms out of the restaurant, he half expects someone — anyone — to stop him. There are four people still sitting there after all. Surely one of them cares enough to placate his temper tantrum. Trina is the most likely candidate, but apparently he pissed her off enough that she stays seated by Mendel’s side. His so-called best friend is far too interested in canoodling her brand new girlfriend in the corner to notice World War Three going on at their booth. He’s not sure if he’s annoyed no one drags him back to their table or relieved.

Perhaps it’s a bit equal parts of both.

So Marvin leaves, like Marvin always does when he gets in this sort of mood. When a situation pisses him off he removes himself from it and damn any of the fallout. But there never is any. Not in all the years he’s been dating Trina has she ever broken up with him because of one of his _moods_. No, they’ll have sex later — for some reason make-up sex has always been easier for him than ‘making love’ or fooling around — and he’ll act contrite and she’ll give him some sort of platitude… and life will continue on as usual.

It’s how things have worked for them since they started sleeping together. Why should anything change now?

With a muttered curse and glowers through the front window at the group he left behind. They’re still laughing and carrying on. It’s like he was never there in the first place.

Well, fuck all of them. 

Marvin thumbs off his cell in a final act of defiance. When they finally realize and want him back, he doesn’t want to make it easy on any of them. They deserve to feel guilty for running him off in the first place. Not to mention he doesn’t want to be interrupted in a few hours when he’s boning some hot piece of ass. Nothing is worse for killing the mood at three in the morning than a panicked text from Charlotte or some rambling apology from Mendel.

And if Trina calls… well, he’s not sure he really wants to speak to her either. He’s too pissed and too drunk to be rational, and it really is a bad combination. It’s why he does things that are dangerous. Why he steps outside of his comfort zone and goes to the damn club.

He goes the one place where, armed with booze and condoms and lube, he can pretend to be anyone _but_ Marvin. The veil of anonymity is intoxicating and all he can think about on the walk over is pulling on someone else’s skin and discarding his own. In a gay bar/club he doesn’t have to be the good Jewish boy who dates the nice Jewish girl who has nice Jewish kids and lives a perfect Jewish life and is so boringly straight.

In a club, he can be the guy who likes to fuck other guys and who has no responsibilities beyond dancing and drinking and sex.

It’s been _months_ too long and god how he _needs_ this. He zips up his hoodie against the sudden bite of cold air and picks up his pace. The sooner he gets there, the sooner he can lose himself in another guy.

* * *

_”Don’t be so fucking controlling that you think if any guy but you looks at me with a shred of kindness I’m going to immediately jump into bed with him! Trust me, here.”_

The irony of Trina’s words aren’t lost on him. Not an hour ago he was snapping at Mendel, damn near accusing him of trying to steal his girlfriend. Now, here he stands with his hands in his jean pockets and stares down the street at the city’s ‘gay’ district. He’d insinuated that Trina would cheat on him — and here Marvin is intending to do just that. 

He’s always stayed away from this area of town, deathly afraid that someone might recognize him down here. Of course, for someone to recognize him, they would have to be down here for the same reason so there may be a quid pro quo cone of silence. But Marvin doesn’t trust that easily. No, when he’s needed his fix, he’s always gone out of town — some place where no one knows his name and the scene isn’t quite so… scene-y.

As he watches people coming and going, it’s like they all know each other. New York City may be the center of the goddamned universe with millions of people crammed onto one small island — but down here in the Village it’s a small, tight-knit family. Another hundred people get off a train and they all talk and chatter. He’s an interloper here, somehow. _This_ is why he always goes out of the city limits when he has his needs. He can’t afford to get drawn into this community. He can’t afford to be one of _them_. 

He’s the gay man who plays straight who doesn’t want any attachments. He doesn’t want anyone to actually know who he is. He doesn’t have the time to hop a train and leave the city. All he wants is to get off and get out of this den of iniquity.

He tells himself because it’s a member of his own sex, it isn’t as bad as Mendel hitting on his girlfriend time and time again. He tells himself because it’s stupid anonymous sex and that he’ll never see this guy again that it’s okay. That this isn’t cheating. It’s scratching an itch that Trina just can’t scratch — so he isn’t in the wrong. 

Marvin’s gotten good at lying over the years. 

To himself and to everyone around him.

* * *

The beat pulses in his veins, loud and hot and all encompassing. Marvin’s severely overdressed for this — he really should have stopped back at his dorm to slip into something that matches his surroundings. As it is, he really sticks out like a sore thumb. He just hopes the scent of men and sweat and sex and liquor will drown out the stale beer smell that still clings to his pants from the ball game.

Because of course he’d come to a club on leather night wearing a pair of jeans and a maroon hoodie and a polo shirt that isn’t even tight across his chest. Not like he knew it was leather night or that he even _owned_ anything appropriate, of course. But at least he could have grabbed a skin-tight tee and attempted to look like he belonged.

Or maybe this just _was_ a leather club. It’s hard to tell. Do leather bars look different from other bars?

The bar is his first stop and the bartender passes a too-strong drink into his hands after a bit of explicit flirting. Marvin may be rusty at the art of seduction but the bartender didn’t seem to mind. He feels powerful.

Invincible.

Something he never feels when he’s out with Trina.

Except now that he’s here with a drink in his hand and a buffet of gorgeous guys gyrating on the dance floor… Marvin is suddenly shy. This isn’t his normal club, isn’t his normal scene… isn’t his normal taste in guys either. Hell, if he’s honest with himself, he doesn’t even have a ‘regular’ club. He’s an interloper no matter where he goes. Fuck, maybe this was a stupid idea after all. He glances back at the bar, debating if it’s worth it to actually pick up the bartender (god, how cliché is that?) but the guy has already moved onto serving someone else and it seems like there’s a mile of people between them. Besides, not like the guy would have said yes in the first place.

Bartenders flirt to increase their tips, nothing more.

Clearly, this guy gave Marvin an extra-strong drink to get him to tip heavily and come back for more and more and more. Maybe Marvin is too cynical for his own good.

There’s a sea of available men around him and he can’t even get up the courage to approach any of them. He takes another long pull on his drink, nearly draining it in one gulp. Warmth spreads through his body, amplifying the effect of the beers he consumed at the ballpark and the cocktail at the restaurant. But what doesn’t come is liquid courage.

No burst of adrenaline that will allow him to move to the center of the dance floor and get all eyes on him. No confidence to go up to a guy and say he wants nothing more than to drop to his knees in the back room. He doesn’t want to admit just how far out of his depth he is here.

Maybe it would be easier if he could actually _live openly_ as a gay man, rather than keep up the straight facade. Maybe it would be easier if he didn’t hate the fact that he wasn’t _normal_ in the eyes of his parents. Maybe it would be easier if he were straight.

Feeling sick to his stomach, Marvin drops his almost-empty glass on the nearest table and slips out the exit before anyone can see him or judge him for not being gay enough.

* * *

The second bar is better, thankfully. Less leather and less… pretension, too. Less of everything, really, including sight. Here, everything is bathed in a phosphorescent haze thanks to the strategic black lights hung from the ceiling. Marvin doesn’t know if this is the theme of the night or if the bar always looks like this, but the darkness actually aids in his comfort.

This time he forgoes flirting with the bartender and gets the special of the night, something purple that glows in his hand. Its fruity and it’s probably one drink too many but at least Marvin doesn’t _feel_ anything any longer. He’s not analyzing and trying to talk himself out of his sexuality.

His sways his hips to the music, letting go of the rest of his inhibitions — though he hasn’t quite gotten up the courage to go up to someone. He’s just praying he looks good enough to some guy here that they’ll come to him. At least here, it’s hard for anyone to tell if he’s their type or not. He hopes the outline of someone dancing alone will be enough to entice.

It’s how it usually works anyway. Hell, Marvin isn’t sure he’s ever approached anyone in one of these clubs. They always come to him first. At least in this place, it’s more likely than the damn leather bar.

“Well, haven’t seen you here before.”

The voice is smooth as silk and Marvin’s cock instantly takes interest. Marvin feels a hand on his hip and he leans back against the other man. It’s too dark to really see faces which is all the better for Marvin. No one can recognize him and vice-versa. He relaxes a fraction. He’ll have to remember this place the next time he needs to get off in a dingy back room somewhere.

“New in town,” Marvin replies, using a line both of them know is a lie.

“I wager so.” The guy chuckles and Marvin feels it vibrate against his back. Oh Marvin could listen to that sound all day. “So what’s your name, stranger?”

Marvin freezes. Names are never shared. Doesn’t this guy know the damn rules of this type of thing? Anonymous only happens when names aren’t exchanged. When names are… then it makes it personal. It means that Marvin’s going to remember this guy later with a name rather than ‘hot dude who can do the amazing thing with his tongue.’ Marvin stutters a bit, the sound coming out a bit strangled.

“Fine, I’ll tell you mine first. If that’ll loosen your tongue.” A hand rests on Marvin’s other hip and he practically melts against the other man. God this feels good. “I’m Whizzer.”

Something should have clicked in Marvin’s brain, a moment of recognition because how many guys on the planet are named _Whizzer_ but unfortunately for him it doesn’t. Not to mention that Marvin wouldn’t have recognized the ball player even if he _could_ see his face. He didn’t see his at bat, too busy getting doused in beer from a fly ball.

A fly ball hit by the very guy who’s rocking his hips against Marvin’s ass.

But again Marvin hesitates, unable to get his mouth to work and form words.

“You’ve had so much to drink you’ve forgotten your own name?” Whizzer’s voice is incredulous, yet also has a hint of amusement. 

God, Marvin wants to kiss him.

He turns in Whizzer’s arms, snaking his own around the other man’s neck. His fingers play with the soft hair at the base of his hairline, pressing in that little bit closer. It’s funny, even this close, it’s impossible for Marvin to make out his facial features clearly. How on earth can a bar make a place so dark that even the soft glow from the pinkish tee Whizzer is wearing doesn’t cast light on his face?

“Ah-ah. No kisses without a name,” Whizzer says, tapping Marvin on the nose.

Marvin panics and says the first name that comes to mind.

“Mendel. Mendel Weisenbachfeld.” 

Whizzer tosses his head back and laughs, and Marvin knows he’d do anything to hear that sound again. “Mendel Weisenbachfeld. No wonder you hesitated. That’s… quite the mouthful there, Mendel.”

This is going to go so badly on so many levels. But, hey, maybe Mendel will be so busy ducking rumors of his sexuality and that he really hangs out in gay bars to hit on Trina. Serves the asshole right for trying to get Trina to cheat on him.

Again, totally different thing than what Marvin was doing.

“So, don’t I get my kiss?” Marvin asks, words slurring together a bit.

“That was the deal, was it not?” Whizzer dips his head down, pressing his lips to Marvin’s.

The kiss is far from gentle or chaste. It’s bruising and punishing and it’s everything that Marvin never has with Trina. He groans as he parts his lips, eagerly welcoming Whizzer’s tongue into his mouth. They rock together and Marvin’s only aware of the press of a body against his own and how he responds so quickly to Whizzer’s touch. His hands slide down from Whizzer’s neck in order to grab his ass, giving a none-too-innocent squeeze.

Even this close it’s hard to make out Whizzer’s features, so Marvin’s imagination fills them in. The alcohol has finally caught up to him and he’s practically melted into Whizzer’s body. Hell the other man could probably ask him to dance naked and he’d agree. Anything to get another kiss like that.

“Come on,” Whizzer purrs, threading his fingers through Marvin’s. “Want to go have some fun?”

Marvin’s grin is slow, licking his lips and letting his gaze rake over Whizzer’s silhouette. “I thought you’d never ask.”

They push their way into the back room. Past the sign that says _no fucking in the bathroom, that’s what the couches are for_ and into the bathroom. Fuck the rules, Marvin wants to be in the dingy bathroom with his imagined Adonis. They push their way past another couple and into the far stall, Whizzer locking it behind them both as they enter.

Marvin isn’t sure who undresses who faster, but it’s enough to get pants down around their ankles and Whizzer to drop to his knees on the tile floor. As his hands thread through Whizzer’s hair, Marvin tilts his head back, groaning as Whizzer sucks him into his mouth.

_Fuck_ , he needed this.

* * *

It’s almost four in the morning by the time he stumbles back to his dorm room. His roommate is, thank god, asleep and Marvin does his best not to wake the guy. He’s sore in all the best ways and Marvin quickly grabs his things to shower. The last thing he needs is for Trina to come by in the morning and to smell sex on him, or to find evidence of Whizzer’s release on his body.

He lost track of how many times they fucked around in the back room — always Marvin on top because penetration was the one thing he couldn’t abide. It was as if to be fucked by another man would push him over a precipice and he could never go back to being _wholly straight_. Whizzer didn’t seem to mind until after they blew through Marvin’s supply of condoms.

By that point, Marvin knew he needed to get back to reality and college and the girlfriend and everything else he’d left behind. The club — _Falsettos_ he’d seen later — was nothing but a fantasy. And if all he had to remember from that night was how Whizzer’s mouth tasted of mint and whisky, then he’d have something to keep him warm for the rest of his life.

Cleaned, though still feeling completely debauched, Marvin slinks back to his dorm room and slides under the covers as if he’d been there all along. At last he turns his phone back on, the thing buzzing in his hand like a vibrator as it tries to catch up with all the notifications.

Groaning, Marvin plugs the phone into his charger and silences everything — vibrate function included. Tomorrow he’ll rejoin the land of the living.

Closing his eyes, Marvin wants to revisit Whizzer Brown in his dreams one last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun-dun-duuuun. We know how this case of mistaken identity is going to go over...
> 
> Thanks for reading the newest update of the CollegeAU story! I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing. ;^] Don't forget to subscribe for updates -- and the High School!Teacher AU is in the works. You might see the first chapter next week. Tune in for more of this, standalones, and AUs!
> 
> And, as always, comments and kudos are love! <3


	4. The One Where Marvin Has a Hangover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Marvin has a hangover, Trina is pissed, and Charlotte begins to suspect something is amiss.

A door slams and it sounds like a bomb goes off in his tiny dorm room. 

Marvin jolts upright in bed, forgetting that he’s on the top bunk and proceeds to smash his forehead into the ceiling. Hungover and now with an added concussion, the world spins precariously on its axis and he nearly topples to the floor. The light flicks on, temporarily blinding him and Marvin dives for the perceived safety of his pillow and blankets.

Clearly he died last night and he’s waking up in hell. His eternal torture: slamming doors and bright lights and sensory overload on a hangover. He has to admit the devil has a flair for the dramatic to rival his own.

Whoever entered his room is louder than they have any right to be at whatever ungodly hour this is. A bag drops, clanging with what sounds like a thousand ear-piercing bells. Heels clack and sound thunderous. 

It’s a veritable cacophony bouncing around his skull.

“This is your seven-forty-five wake up call,” Trina’s voice is muffled thanks to the pillow, but it’s shrill all the same.

“Oh god, do you have to be so loud?” he asks, not brave enough to lift his head.

“ _This is your_ —” She pitches her voice louder and Marvin wants to scream. Or die. Perhaps a bit of both.

“For the love of all things holy, if you actually loved me you would not do this to me and respect the fact that it feels like I have a herd of elephants practicing the tango with my brain as the dance floor.”

Trina shakes her head. “This is your own fault you know. You’re the one who decided to get drunk off your ass and then fucking abandon me in front of all our friends last night. Thanks for that, by the way. Mendel was nice enough to see me home since you didn’t give a damn about me.” Marvin growls at the mere mention of Mendel’s name. “What’s gotten into you, anyways?”

Marvin groans, burrowing further into his bed. For the first time, he’s regretting the life decision to give Trina the spare key to his dorm room. Okay, so _maybe_ she has every right to be pissed off at him. _Maybe_ he knows he behaved like a regular asshole last night. But does she really have to take it out on him like this? So he left her alone… it wasn’t like she was really _alone_.

She had Mendel. The jerk probably consoled and comforted her while he was off… getting off.

He stretches in bed, one foot sticking out from under the covers as he tries to get his body to follow commands and wake up. If he had his way, hey’d have skipped his morning classes and basked in the hangover/glorious afterglow of a night of heavy drinking coupled with fabulous sex. If he closes his eyes, he can still feel Whizzer’s hands on his body.

When he opens them and peeks out from under the covers, instead he’s met with an irate girlfriend and her intent of making his life miserable thanks to this perceived sleight.

She was getting along just fine with Cordelia when he left and he knew Trina often went shopping with Charlotte on any number of occasions. Besides, with how Mendel seemed to hang onto her every word, it was more like she had held court last night and he was the unnecessary court jester.

“Marvin have you even heard a word I’ve said?”

He sighs. “I’d say yes, but then you’d start quizzing me on various parts of your speech so I’m going to skip the lying and go straight to the no. So… go ahead and shift your lecture to the one where I never listen to you along with what a rotten boyfriend you think I am.”

_Boyfriend._ The word tastes sour on his lips. He knows, deep down, that Trina deserves someone so much better than him. She deserves someone like Mendel: boring, safe, devoted… and straight.

And here he is, hungover and still with the scent of another man clinging to his body like a bad cologne. He should break up with her right now. Or maybe he’s hoping that he’ll do enough stupid things that she’ll be the one to pull the plug on their relationship and he’ll come out smelling like the proverbial rose.

But as the scent of coffee wafts to his nose, Marvin lowers his blanket barricade to see a Starbucks cup inches away from his face. He peers around the container to see Trina with a contrite expression on her face.

“Consider this a peace offering?” she asks, lowering the decibel level of her voice considerably. He notices the lights have been turned off as well.

Her tantrum seems to have passed, far quicker than any of Marvin’s ever have.

Marvin should be the one making amends. Marvin should have been the one showing up at her door early in the morning with flowers and coffee as a mea culpa, trying to fix their tattered relationship once again. Instead she’s here doing all the work. Marvin should feel guilty, but instead he’s relieved. He’s gotten out of yet another fight and yet another tear in the fabric of their happiness with a bit of scotch tape and hope holding it back together. It’s precarious at best, but Marvin gives her a grateful smile all the same.

“Set it down on the dresser. My luck I’ll burn myself trying to get down.”

Trina complies and Marvin carefully swings himself down to the floor. His legs buckle but Trina is there with an arm around his waist to keep him from collapsing. He turns his head and breathes in her scent. It’s nothing whatsoever like Whizzer’s; all spice and sweat and alcohol.

Instead it’s a clean, sweet scent that reminds him yet again of his indiscretions — of what a jackass he is by stringing her along. But when he feels her melt against his side, it’s hard to want to give this up. Because part of Marvin does love Trina.

But is that small part enough to make them both happy?

“You smell disgusting,” she says finally, playfully pushing him away. “Go shower. I told Charlotte we’d meet her for breakfast at the union in twenty.”

He bends down to steal a quick kiss, but she pushes him away. It’s probably for the best — he didn’t brush his teeth last night before falling into bed and he’s fairly certain morning breath with a side helping of another guy’s semen isn’t something he should share with his girlfriend.

Instead, Marvin grabs the coffee and takes a long drink, glad it’s cool enough not to burn his mouth off.

"I do have a roommate, you know. How did you know you wouldn't wake him?" Marvin asks, popping off the lid to be able to half-chug his drink.

"Because I saw him leave the dorm on my way in."

"Ugh. You know logic is ineffective against me with a pounding migraine."

“Go,” Trina says, pushing him and the coffee toward the door. “I’ll meet you in the Union.”

* * *

If he thought dealing with Trina and slamming doors was murder on his hangover and senses, nothing could have prepared him for the utter hell of the student union. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his well-worn maroon hoodie. Thank god the city had made outlawed smoking in clubs or smelling like an ashtray would have given him away. He fights the urge to flick the hood up and wishes he had thought to grab sunglasses as another layer of perceived protection from light and sounds.

The shower barely helped, though it did wash the scent of the club from his skin so there’s that at least. But with his bloodshot eyes and still damp hair, Marvin looks like something the cat dragged in, chewed up, then spit out again.

He never should have got out of bed this morning. Not even for Trina. Not even for the guy he fucked last night.

Well. Maybe for him.

_Maybe._

Marvin makes a beeline for the self-serve coffee bar, grabbing the largest cup imaginable and dumping more sugar than is healthy into the bottom. The Starbucks Trina had brought is already long gone and he still hasn’t downed enough caffeine to become a functioning human. Marvin pockets a granola bar and stuffs a piece of toast in his mouth, ignoring the rest of the hot bar.

Not even bacon smells good which should just be a crime against humanity.

He swipes his card to pay for his food, shuffling to the table he and his friends usually haunt every morning. Through all four years of college, they’ve sat here without fail for breakfast and dinner. Marvin, at first (and to be honest still does), bemoaned the whole ‘getting up early to eat shitty college food’ but Trina insisted and here they were as seniors, eating together almost every morning without fail. The number of people have varied over the years, depending on if there was a new significant other (Charlotte) or a fun classmate who seemed like they’d fit in (Trina). 

No one ever stayed for long — mostly because they never seemed to really mesh with the pre-established tight-knit family. A break-up here, a transfer there… and others faded into the background and eventually disappeared altogether through no one’s fault. Just the transient nature of college friendships.

He can’t remember when exactly Mendel entered their little group or who first introduced him… but one day he wasn’t there and the next he was. For a while, Marvin liked having Mendel around. He was a great listener — a good quality in someone who wanted to pursue a career in psychology. Or psychiatry. He could never keep the two straight.

But somewhere along the lines, things shifted. Marvin didn’t feel comfortable talking to Mendel — and Mendel started sitting too close to Trina for comfort. Started flirting. 

Then again, it may have coincided with the first time he went up to Westchester to find the local gay scene. It all blurs together in his head, made all the fuzzier by the pounding headache between his temples.

As he approaches his friends, Trina flashes him a smile but Marvin’s scowl only deepens when he sees how close Mendel’s chair is to hers. Either she’s oblivious to his affections and intentions or… or he doesn’t know what. (Or maybe it is all innocent, but it’s not a risk Marvin can take.) Marvin takes a long pull from his coffee, scalding his tongue in the process. His brain isn’t firing on all cylinders on the best of days — and hungover isn’t the time to accuse his girlfriend of cheating on him.

Not when he was on his knees the night before sucking someone else’s cock.

_I’m best when I cheat…_

Marvin shakes the thought away before it can manifest and become a confession. He’s supposed to be the doting boyfriend, so he drops into his usual chair and leans toward Trina to steal a kiss. She obliges and Marvin hears the scrape of a chair as she moves closer to him and away from Mendel. _Good._ She rests her head on his shoulder and he fights off a triumphant smirk.

Christ, why is he so jealous of Mendel? He knows Trina loves him and would never leave him. He _knows_ this instinctively.

Across the table from him, Charlotte eyes Marvin like he’s a piece of dog shit stuck to her heel. Her gaze is too penetrating, too uncomfortable.

“Well, well, look who decided to show up,” Charlotte says, elbows perched on the table. “I’ve seen cadavers look more lifelike than you do.”

Mendel snickers and Marvin wants to punch him.

“So where’s your new girlfriend?” Marvin asks, ignoring the strange look he’s getting from Charlotte and trying to throw attention away from him and his appearance..

“Since I happen to really like this girl, I figured it was smarter to only expose her to you in small doses, especially given your behavior last night,” Charlotte shoots back. “No one but your nearest and dearest should have to babysit Mr. Hangover.”

Marvin ducks his head. _Touché_. Of all of his friends — Trina included — Charlotte has always been the only one who could call him on his shit and get away with it. He mutters a half-apology out of the side of his mouth, unable to look Charlotte in the eye.

He’s actually embarrassed for once in his life. For everything he did last night and for being a jerk this morning. He hates being called on the carpet by Charlotte and it’s even more uncomfortable to admit that she’s right, even to himself.

“I’d ask you to promise it won’t happen again but we all know the answer to that,” Charlotte continues. The hits just keep coming.

Marvin focuses on the white lid of his coffee, picking at the small piece of plastic left over from where the vent was punched. There isn’t much he can say or argue or protest because he knows it’s true. 

They all know it’s true.

They just don’t know the _reason_ it’s true.

“Where did you go last night, anyway?”

The table goes dead silent at Mendel’s question. It’s always been an unspoken rule: no one asks where Marvin goes when he flounces off in a huff. They wait around to pick up the pieces the next day and the next — but no one _ever_ asks about Marvin’s whereabouts.

Trina nudges Mendel, giving him one of her practiced _looks_ — one Marvin is glad not to be on the receiving end for once — but Mendel seems oblivious. 

“I mean, you got drunk off your ass and Trina was worried about you. So where the hell did you go?” Mendel asks again, ducking away from Trina’s outstretched hand.

“What the hell is it to you?” Marvin spits at him. “Last I checked Trina was my girlfriend. Not you.”

For the second time this morning, the table goes deadly silent. It’s a moment Marvin wishes he could shove back inside his mouth. Add it to the list of apologies he owes people that they’ll never receive.

“Just because you feel like crap doesn’t mean you can take it out on the rest of us,” Mendel says, his voice soft. His chair scrapes against the tile and Marvin grits his teeth, the sound setting his frayed nerves on edge.

Then he’s gone, his curly head disappearing into a sea of students scattering to make it to their next class.

“Can’t you behave like a normal person for just once?” Trina asks, a frown on her face. “I can deal with your usual level of assholishness but I’ve known you for half a lifetime. But do you have to be a real jackass when you drink? God, what has Mendel ever done to you?”

_Tried to steal you away from me,_ he thinks but cannot say aloud.

Rather than reply, Marvin takes her hand and gives it a squeeze and breathes a sigh of relief when she returns the gesture. He’s a master at using touch to diffuse a situation. She bends down to kiss his forehead and, once again, all is right with he world.

“I’m going to make sure he’s okay,” she says.

“Yeah, you do that,” Marvin replies, his voice cold.

He hears her sigh and for the hundredth time today he regrets upsetting her. Sometimes he can’t help being an asshole. She doesn’t deserve it.

He doesn’t deserve her.

“I’ll see you tonight?” Her voice is hesitant. “If you’re… still up for date night?” Trina’s smile is so hopeful, Marvin can’t bear the thought of breaking her heart. And so back into the closet he steps.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

She beams at him, stealing another kiss and Marvin returns it, twining his fingers with hers briefly. “I’ll see you tonight. I… should make sure Mendel’s okay.”

Trina’s gone, hand extracted from his, before Marvin can say anything. He’s sure Trina will apologize on his behalf but everyone knows her words are hollow. She’s always the one making amends for Marvin’s behavior, not Marvin himself. Still, it’ll keep the peace for another week… until Marvin decides to fuck up all over again.

“You’re a fucking asshole.”

He’d almost forgotten Charlotte was there. _Fuck._ Now there’s no one for buffer; no one to shift the conversation to.

“Ah, and now we’re alone,” she says, drumming her fingers on the table. “So… care to tell me what all that was about? And start with last night because clearly this whole tantrum carried over for the last twelve hours.”

“I hate how perceptive you are,” Marvin replies.

“It’s a gift.”

“You should go into psychology, not Mendel.”

Charlotte shrugs. “A doctor of internal medicine still helps people. Just in a different way. Now stop deflecting and tell me what’s going on.”

Marvin purses his lips. Caught, again. “Nothing. i’m fine.”

“Bullshit.”

He sighs and Charlotte’s expression softens. She gets up from her chair and takes up Trina’s abandoned chair, wrapping an arm around Marvin’s shoulders. “You know I love you, despite my better judgment. And you know you can talk to me about _anything._ Even things you don’t think you can tell anyone else.”

For a moment, Marvin panics. She _knows._ He hopes his expression remains impassive. Why else would she say this? It’s as if she’s trying to cajole a confession out of him. Trying to make him throw open the closet door and proclaim to the world _I’m gay._ But it’s an olive branch Marvin cannot take.

This is his secret, no one else’s.

But it’s also Whizzer’s now.

Whizzer Brown who thinks he was fucked last night by a guy named Mendel. Blurting out the first name that came to mind is an unexpected boon. Marvin’s safe. Hell, Mendel is too. Who goes looking on college campuses for the guy you met in a gay bar? No one, that’s who.

Still, it’s so tempting to lay his soul bare to Charlotte. If anyone is going to understand… it’s her.

Would it be so bad to admit he likes men? 

Would it be so bad to confess he doesn’t want the life Trina has picked out for them? (or, rather, he wants the wife and children but with another guy filling the female role.)

And if he does, then Trina breaks up with him and he has no one. What, does he really think Whizzer would come and sweep him off his feet?

It’s a fantasy world and it’s not his to even indulge in.

“I’m fine.” Marvin says after a small eternity.

Charlotte’s arm falls away and she almost looks disappointed in him. What a shock, he continues to disappoint those who love him.

“I’m fine,” he repeats, his voice cracking on the words. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience and I hope you enjoyed the chapter. There's some fun things coming up so make sure you subscribe so you don't miss an update! I hope to have one more chapter up in December, but there's some fun (read: angsty fluff-ish) Chrismukkah fics also to come this month. Lots of writing for you guys so, if you like what you've read, kudos and comments are love! <33
> 
> And if you haven't already, check out Fast Times at Falsettos High -- the High School Drama Teacher AU.

**Author's Note:**

> Because while working on the teacher AU, this plot bunny poked at me and wouldn’t leave until I sat down to write. I'm not horribly upset because college AUs are also totally my jam, too. I’ve seen a lot of trends in college AUs to have Whizzer be the friend of Charlotte/Cordelia so I wanted to switch that up. Also I like playing with the trope of both Marvin/Trina being unhappy and seeing who cracks first. (Also Marvin having a Chess Club + best re-written line ever to avoid rhyming with shit on PBS = title of fic)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed. Comments and kudos are <3!


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